


Home

by Porcelaintub



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Crutchie (Newsies), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Refuge (Newsies), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porcelaintub/pseuds/Porcelaintub
Summary: When Crutchie wakes up in the Refuge he doesn't know what to do. Everything hurts and nothing feels right. The horrific place he only knew from Jack's stories until now, turns out to be far worse than he could have imagined.
Relationships: Crutchie & Jack Kelly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are already stories like this, but here are my version and ideas. Enjoy!  
> Oh, please read the tags for trigger warnings! I will add more as the story progresses.

I'm floating on an ocean of nothing. Everything feels numb like I'm lying in a mushy mess. Muffled but not soft and comfortable or anything, if that makes sense at all.

There was somewhere I had to go. I was running from or to something, that's for sure. And fighting, I think. Jack was also there, yeah, no doubt.

I have to get up and go home. The boys must be sick with worry by now. So I strip off the numbness like a heavy blanket that's weighing me down but, unfortunately, also keeping me safe.

The first sense to come back is hearing. Well, I don't exactly hear like usual but instead an obnoxious ringing. With all my strength, I try to lift my arm, yet all I manage is a slight twitch in my fingers. That movement alone is enough to make everything hurt again. Suddenly my body feels like someone took two millstones and put me between them.

Despite the ringing, I hear quiet whispers, so I open my eyes to make out the source, bad idea. The world starts to spin around me, and a wave of pain washes over my head. A groan or something must have escaped my mouth because I hear someone stumbling through the dark in my direction.

"Hey, Tommy, the kid ain't dead, I think. Told ya he's alright." 'Alright' is not exactly the word I would use, but hey, the boy is right. I'm alive, so that's unquestionably a plus.

"Shut up! Someone will hear you," a second boy, maybe Tommy, hisses. But this is not Tommy Boy, so where am I? I'd try to find out, but at the moment, I'm busy moving as little as possible.

"Hey, you! Are you dead?" the first boy asks, shaking my shoulder mercilessly, causing me to curl into myself with little success.

"If you go on like this, he will be. Just leave him there. If he's still good tomorrow, we can take care of him, and if he's dead, we won't have to find him a bunk. Now lie back down before you're caught, and we'll all be in trouble." The boy huffs, and I hear his footsteps fade away until he lies down in a bed.

So there I am all alone again, on the cold stone floor, with no idea where I am or what to do.

My thoughts begin to stray. I think about the boys, my regular customers, the folks in the theater, the strike, and Jack, everything to escape the inevitable truth. And while the night passes, my mind finally drifts off, and I fall asleep. 

Not long after, a pain rushes through my hand into my arm and rips the last hope of at least a little rest right out of my grip.

"Ah, shit! Sorry, didn't see ya there."

I look up despite my protesting head, trying to orient myself. The room is fully made of concrete, no wallpaper, no floorboards, nothing. The only source of light is the sunrise through the barred window opposite the metal door. Everything about this room feels cold and lonely.

The smell makes me almost gag. It reminds me of homeless drunkards, smelling like piss and vomit and sometimes sickness and death.

Boys of all ages walk through the small room, putting on shoes, but it's nothing like the lodge. The regular chatter and bickering are missing. These people all talk either in hushed voices or not at all. Even the air feels heavy and bleak. Yeah, that's the perfect word to describe this place, bleak.

I try to sit up, agonizing pain shooting through my bad leg and back. It's worse than usual, maybe even worse than when I got polio for the first time.

Someone lazily kicks my side. "Get up, kid. Snyder is gonna be here any minute, and you ain't wantin' to be beat up when you's already half dead." Snyder. I would be lying if I said I didn't already know it but hearing it is different.

Under a lot of pain, I grab my crutch and balance my weight on my better leg, it's not good either anymore, in an attempt to go to one of the bunks, again, bad idea. My knee buckles under my weight, and I'm back on the floor.

"Come on, I'll help ya," another boy says and tries to pull me up with limited success.

"Tommy, might need a hand here." Tommy curses under his breath and comes over. Now I also recognize the boy who's clutching my arm as the one from last night. It's unmistakably his voice. The type of loud, high-pitched one that Jack would describe as obnoxious. A bit like Race's but less childlike. Tommy, on the other hand, speaks with a dry, mature sounding tone.

Together they pull me up and bring me over to the bunk closes to me, and I can feel the embarrassment painting my face red. I hate it when people do that. But I'm not mad at them, of course not, they're only trying to help. I'm angry at myself for getting in that mess and being too weak to even stand up on my own, angry at my stupid leg for being too weak to run from the Delanceys.

Bitter tears well up in my eyes, and it takes all my focus to stop them from spilling over. I can't be weak now, not when I'm already so vulnerable. I have to be strong. Jack wouldn't cry either. I have to be as strong as Jack. I can do this.

I turn to the side to thank them, but right at that moment, the door bursts open, and I'm pulled back to my feet. 

"Stand still. If he passes you, ya say 'Good mornin', Mr. Snyder'. Don't look him in the eye, don't flinch or tryna act tough," the boy whispers, almost too quick to understand.

I have always been afraid of the Spider. Jack and Race, and a few others told me terrifying things about him whenever they felt calm enough to not get a panic attack by only thinking about their time here. Cruel, merciless, greedy, malicious are a few words they often used. A snake, a monster, a spider. Sometimes they weren't even able to say his name out loud.

His heavy steps echo through the room, disrupting the tense silence. With my eyes fixed to the ground, his footfalls and Good mornings from the boys are the only things telling me how close he is by now, making my heart beat faster with every single meandering step.

Snyder stops right in front of me, and as he leans down to my eye level, I can feel his hot breath on my face. Don't flinch! Don't flinch, or everything will be even worse.

I hold my breath and concentrate on stoping my hands from trembling so violently, or my crutch will make noise on the floor.

The few seconds until he carries on with his patrol feel like forever, and when he finally closes the door behind him, I collapse on the bed and let out the breath I didn't know I was still holding.

"I thought he was gonna have your head. Not greetin' him...ain't sure if that's just stupid or crazy."

"I- I forgot."

He giggles quietly. "Giggles."

"What?"

"My name. And that's Thomas or Tommy as we call him."

"You're the only one who calls me Tommy," Thomas says, hitting Giggles on the back of his head. A tiny smile creeps on my face. These two seem to be good people.

"I'm Crutchie. Thanks for the help." I start to carefully massage my thigh to get rid of at least a bit of the pain. I can feel that there are not only cramps. There are also bruises and maybe a fraction from when they hit me with my crutch. What a sick and humiliating thing to do.

"Nice meetin' ya, Crutchie. You plan to stick around a while?" That's a good question. Of course, I don't _plan_ to stay here, but how long will I have to?

Before I can give the answer, I don't have the door opens again, but nobody besides me is startled or moves to stand in front of their bunks this time. They don't even turn their heads in the direction. 

The man who opened the door instantly walks away, leaving it ajar. Thomas's face gets even more serious than it already was. "Do you think you can take two flights of stairs? I don't want to carry you if I don't have to. It would make you look like even more of an easy target. Not only for the guards but also for other inmates," he says, talking to me for the first time.

"I can do it," I say without hesitation. I won't let anyone carry me. No way! Like on cue, my leg spasms, and pain runs up my spine before I even attempt to move.

I can do this. I have to.


	2. Chapter 2

I pull myself up, and it takes all my will to not fall right back down. I can do this!

I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of relieved when Thomas takes my arm that doesn’t hold a crutch and puts it over his shoulder, taking most of my weight on him.

Almost everyone has left the room by now, and Giggles is waiting at the door, impatiently bouncing on one spot. "Come on! Come on, come on! We ain’t gonna get food like this!“

"You really think we‘ll get any?“ Thomas asks, and I can see how he's hiding a smirk about Giggles antics. 

"I‘m sure! Today is finally the day. They had us two days without even a slice of bread. Eventually they have to give us somethin'.“ When we arrive at the bottom after two agonizing flights of stairs, we’re met with a horde of boys, mixed emotions on their faces. Some of them sad or angry, and some blank or disappointed like in Giggles case. He looks at the floor, kicking none existent pebbles through the room.

Thomas throws his arm around the other boy's shoulders and ruffles his dusty auburn hair. "Hey, tomorrow they have to give us something.“

"You sure?“

"No ifs ands or buts.“

Giggles eyes light up, and a soft giggle escapes his mouth. He turns to me with a crooked smile. "So, Crutchie, you ready to get some work done?“

I nod eagerly. Working is something I can do. I have my experience with it.

Turns out, I can’t. We all have to do different chores. Sweeping the floor, cleaning windows, doing laundry, and other stuff like that. Some of the very unlucky ones are assigned to prepare lunch for the guards. They’re cutting vegetables and meat for a stew, but of course, under the strict view of guards so they can’t steal or eat any of it.

For the first half-hour or so, I clean the windows, somehow not collapsing under the pain. It feels like glass shards instead of blood are running through his veins, hurting worse with every movement. After that, a guard spots me and seems to find pleasure in bugging me. 

"Come on, crip. Jump, and you’ll get this. Isn’t that nice of me?“ He waves a piece of bread in front of my face.

I won’t do it. Never in all eternity would I lower me so much that I'll jump for a bit of food. Especially not when someone like him asks me to. Not when I know that I’ll surely collapse, and he and everyone else will laugh at me. I won’t give him that satisfaction. So I just stare him dead in the eye, clenching my jaw and fists.

"Aww, you’re no fun.“ He pops the piece of food into his mouth, and I can see Giggles pout behind him.   
"Okay, your next chance. Jump, or you carry this thing upstairs.“ He points to a stack of chairs in one corner, a malicious grin contorting his face. Panic rises in my chest, closing up my throat. 

I can’t do that. How am I supposed to bring them up all the stairs when he wasn’t even able to walk them down on my own. I try to swallow the pain and humiliation and take all my strength to jump.

I'm not even sure if my feet left the floor at all when the crutch slips on the freshly wiped floorboards and sends me tumbling to the ground. Pain shoots through my whole body, and I cry out. Stupid leg, stupid floor, stupid guard. Stupid me.

Embarrassment washes over me when the guard bursts out laughing loudly, and a few of the boys who saw me failing join in. I pull myself back up to my feet, ignoring my protesting limbs to continue with the window, which is too tall for me to reach the top.

"What are you doing?“

"What?“

"I said, 'what are you doing?'!“ he yells at me, his mocking tone replaced with rage. I recoil, almost tripping over my crutch, not sure what I did wrong this time. He slaps me right in the face, making my head hit the window pane. The room starts to spin again, and the veins behind my temples throb.

"Bring the fucking chairs up. Do you also have brain damage, crip? I said you jump or bring them up.“

"But I-" Another hit follows. I don’t understand. I jumped, so why do I have to do this? 

"You call that jumping? You’re here to entertain me, not to disobey.“ He came close to my face, and the stinging alcohol in his breath causes me to grimace in disgust.

"Carry. Them. Up.“ I step further backward, but the windowsill already presses into my back. As soon as he is gone, I hurry over to the pile. How many are those? I count six. 

I can do this. I never complain about hard work. Jack would be able to do this, so I can do this. 

I lift the two ones on top of the rest, only now realizing that I can’t use my crutch while I carry them. Shit. I take a step nevertheless and put my weight on my bad leg. Awful idea. The combined weight of me and the chairs is too much, sending us to the ground.

My shirt rips on one of the legs when I fall onto it, and warm wetness runs down my arm, painting the floorboards red. Great! Seems like I’m not as strong and tough as Jack, after all. 

The rest of the day doesn’t go any better. We continue to clean, and multiple guards pick at me, having their fun seeing me struggle with whatever they command me to do.

When everything is finally sparkling clean, we’re send back to our cells. This time no one is there to help me with the stairs. Still, I make it despite the exhaustion and injuries. Enough shame was put on me today. I won’t let anything happen to make me seem even weaker.

Back in the still smelly, dirty room, I just want to lay down like I usually do, after an especially hard day of work, but since I’m the last one to arrive, all the bunks have at least two boys in each of them. 

"Crutchie!“ Giggles pipes up from a bottom bunk opposite the door, hurrying over, „You okay?“ 

"Yeah, I‘m fine,“ I lie. My everything hurts, and I feel like passing out. 

"Come on, let‘s get you a place.“ He pulls me through the room to his bunk.

„Tommy?“ The dark-haired boy looks down from the bunk bed above Giggles. He seems to understand immediately.

"Robert, make way!“ Thomas looks pointedly at a blond boy in a bottom bunk who groans, but still climbs up the ladder.

"There ya go, kid.” Giggles lightly pushes me in the direction of the bed with free space. There’s only one more boy in it. I am used to this, so it’s okay. In the lodge, we often share a mattress for warmth or to save money, so it’s not too bad. Well, in the lodge, I know the people I’m sleeping right next to, but it’s okay. 

"Oh, but don’t sleep yet. I know it’s hard to not instantly fall asleep on these incredibly comfortable stones, but if someone patrols and you ain’t standing up, you’re good as dead.”

Following Giggles's advice, I just lie there for a long time, fighting to stay awake like everyone else. 

Once again, I realize that it’s nothing like home. No one talks or laughs. No boys are sitting in a circle, playing cards or chatting about their day. There’s no one asking if I have eaten enough today and if I need something to put my leg up. Usually, I am annoyed by the babying, but now I wish for nothing more than Jack’s stupid questions and offer to help me climb up the ladder to our penthouse. 

A few hours later, the room is filled with heavy breaths and light snores, but the pain in my leg and arm is keeping me awake. No one came to patrol. Giggles said that’s even worse than when they do it because you just wait endlessly, afraid to fall asleep, not knowing when or if someone comes.

“Ey, boy, get up!” Someone shakes my shoulder violently, forcing me to suppress a scream. Confused, I sit up and stand as good as I can. The boy, Robert, takes my spot on the bed and pulls the thin blanket over him, leaving me even more perplexed.

“What are ya doin'?” I ask, frustration audible in my voice.

"Sleepin' in my bed. Ya thought I was gonna sleep up there with two more just 'cause Thomas told me? You wish.” He laughs bitterly and turns away. I stare at him for a while and then at the ladder on the side of the bunk. I have climbed higher ones before. Even though not in a condition like this. 

Finally up there, I press myself into the tiny space between the boys and rail, for once happy that I’m so small and thin. It’s not cold, and yes, the pain and hard bed are uncomfortable but not unbearable, yet sleep just won’t take over.

In moments like these, I would usually watch the stars or talk to Jack. Sometimes I would even go to Race when the smell of smoke from the window below tells me that he can't sleep either and chat with him to calm down. Here’s no one to talk to.

Yes, Giggles and Thomas were nice to me, but it’s not the same. Here are no stars or a cool breeze calming my racing mind. Here‘s no space for dreams about a sorrow-free place all the way in New Mexico.

Suddenly an idea strikes me. I pull myself up into a sitting position, dangling my legs over the edge of the bed. There are one or two crumbled pages of newspaper in my pocket. Articles I wanted to read someday but never did, so they still wait there patiently to be used or thrown away together with the charcoal pencil I borrowed from Jack two days ago and forgot to return.

And so I write down my thoughts in the form of a letter. A letter to my brother.

Maybe Jack is never going to read it. How is he even supposed to when I can’t give it to him? But still, it's almost like talking to him. Just without all the interruptions from Jack's side, and I have more time to think about what I say. Yet the well-considered optimism that always clings to my words when I talk to him or any of the other boys is right there, even fooling me into smiling.

Still, while writing this, a new thought that lingered in the back of my mind since I woke up becomes more present. I might not make it. If every day goes like this, I won’t make it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. If you did, it would be great if you could leave kudos or a comment.  
> Have a nice day/night!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trigger warnings are in the tags, but I wanted to write the ones for this chapter here just to make sure that I won't harm anyone.  
> tw: violence, blood, somewhat mentioned homophobia (I don't know if it already counts, but I'm putting it here just to be safe)

I have always been an early riser, but the reason I wake up before sunrise is that I’m also a light sleeper. When I open my eyes, the room is still dark, and everyone is in their beds. 

I sit up and stretch out my sore muscles. Noises are coming from the window. That must be what woke me up.

“Crutchie? Crutchie Morris. Are you here?” a strained voice whispers.

When I recognize the familiar sound, I crawl out of my bed and climb down the ladder as fast as possible without waking anyone up. 

“I’m here. Please don’t go away.” Stumbling through the room, I finally reach the window and grab the bars tightly for balance. Those few steps were way more exhausting than they should have been.

“Crutchie, it’s you. How are you? You look awful, ” Specs says, squinting to see my face despite the dark.

“Hiya, Specs. I’m fine. Looks worse than it feels,” I lie. It hurts awfully bad, and I’m still too terrified to lift my shirt or pull up my pant legs out of fear of what sort of injuries hide there.

He examines my body, and judging by the look on his face, Specs sees the injuries and blood that seeped through my shirt. “How did you find me?” I try to change the topic.

"We thought you were somewhere with Jack, but when I talked to him you ain’t been with him. So I tried my luck here and climbed down from the roof to knock on every window. This is the fifth I’m at." It surprises me that he had to come search for me at all. Why didn’t Jack just tell him where I am. He saw how I was dragged to the paddy wagon, so he should know.

"How is the rest? Are they okay? Is the strike still going well? Now, after that, Brooklyn has to be with us, right?" I can't stop the questions that are streaming out of my mouth. I have to hear that everything is fine. The thought of them being hurt or in danger crushes my heart. 

“The others-“

“Hey, who’s there? Why are you out of bed?” a boy from the bunk next to the door asks. 

“Shit, Specs! Go! Go!” I hastily pull the paper out of my pocket and press it into his free hand. “Give this to Jack, please. Make sure someone takes care of him. Make sure he eats enough. Tell everyone I love them. Promise me, Specs!” I say as fast as I can, tears gathering in my eyes.

“I promise.” He pulls himself back up onto the roof and is gone. It feels like he has never been there.

I go back to my bunk, but no matter how hard I try, I'm just not able to climb the ladder. My leg immediately gives out when I put even a little weight on it, and the muscles on my arms burn like someone has put them on fire.

So I sit down on the floor, praying that none of the rats I saw yesterday will bite me in the few hours that are left before the sun rises. 

When I wake up the next time, the first few boys are sitting on the floor like me or on the side of their beds. I want to grab my crutch to also get to my shoes, but it’s not where I left it yesterday.

“Come on, give it back, Rob. This ain’t funny.” In front of the door are Robert and Giggles. Robert is holding up my crutch, using his height advantage to keep it out of the shorter boy's reach. 

Stuff like that happened before. The Delanceys sometimes steal his crutch to make fun of him, but here no one can run away with it, so it’s not a problem at all. Just annoying and pretty humiliating if you ask me.

“What are you gonna do now? Cry? Tell mommy?” Robert grins at him triumphantly, and even from over here, I can see the desperation in Giggles's face. And all that because of me, who he doesn’t even know.

“Robert, cut it out! Give him the crutch and search someone your size to mess with.” Thomas comes over with crossed arms and a harsh look on his face. 

“Awww, look who’s comin’ to save his boyfriend. Mr. I’m better than all of you ‘cause my daddy got money.” Robert spits onto Thomas’s shoes before shoving Giggles to the ground.

It’s awful how people have to take care of me all the time, and I can’t even help them help me. How much I want to go over to fight for myself, but I can’t even help Giggles stand up. All I can do is sit here and watch while others fight my battles. I don't want people to do that, but now I can't do it myself anymore. Nothing in the world is more frustrating to me than being helpless.

Thomas tenses up, but the one who jumps Robert is Giggles. He tries to push him to the ground, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t have a chance. He’s thin and weak. It’s scary how much thinner than the boys at home everyone here is, even though they don’t get much food either. Giggles might be a bit taller than me, but considering my height, it doesn’t mean much.

Robert, on the other hand, is probably the tallest person in the room, and despite being also thinner than what would be healthy, he has broad shoulders and a tough-looking face. The scar that runs from his chin up to his lips makes him look even more intimidating.

So it’s no problem for him to turn them around and pin Giggles against the door. One of his fists clenches the smaller boy's shirt, and the other is lifted, ready to punch him in the face.

I'm about to beg them to stop, but luckily, or maybe not, right at that moment, the door opens, and they both tumble into the hall, falling to the ground. 

Thomas runs over to me, some curses falling from his mouth, and pulls me to my feet while everyone besides Giggles and Robert stops starring, and positions himself in front of the bunks. Thomas's face is full of panic, and his breathing is quick and short.

“Guys...not on my shift...” The guard sighs and helps Giggles stand up, looking with a hint of disgust at Robert. I can almost feel how the tension leaves the room, and everyone relaxes. Thomas’s grip on my arm lightens, and he starts to breathe normally.

He’s young compared to the rest I’ve seen until now, maybe in his early to mid-twenties. He doesn’t give off an intimidating or mean vibe like the other guards and looks almost friendly if it weren't for his uniform.

“Come on, give this to me.” He stretches his hand out, and Robert involuntarily gives him my crutch. “So...uh...is everyone still here and alive?” 

"No one croaked or checked out early," Giggles says and salutes. The guard shakes his head, amused.

“Bye then. Oh, I heard someone say something about breakfast, so you should hurry.“ Well, that was a quick patrol.

Excited whispers erupt as soon as he closes the door behind him. I would lie if I said that wasn't hungry myself. The last time I ate was the morning two days ago. In the past, this would have been a normal thing, but through living in the lodge, I got accustomed to eating at least a bit every day. 

Giggles comes running towards us, as far as running in this room is even possible, a sly grin plastered on his face. He’s about to say something, but Thomas grabs his shoulders and shakes him.

„Are you crazy? You could have gotten into serious trouble, idiot.“ He laughs nervously, giving a half-hearted shrug and apology.

"Thank you for your help. Who was that?" The guard didn't seem to fit in at all. People like him don't work at places like this, right? I mean, why should they even want to do that. But on the other hand, it's probably no one's dream job to be a newsie or shoeshiner either. 

"Oconnell. He's Snyder's nephew or something like that. That's why he works here, but I don't think he really wants to. He sometimes seems a bit dense, but I don't think he is. Just very out of place," Thomas says.

"He ain't dense, and... he ain't bad lookin' neither." In response, Thomas slaps him on the back of his head, a sour look on his face. Disgust? Jealousy?

It's not untrue. In fact, Oconnell is quite handsome, but Robert's words replay in my head. Are they a couple?   
I'm about to ask but stop myself. Many people aren't as accepting and open about these things as I'm used to. Behind safe walls, this isn't a problem, and for me, it has become normal to see two boys being close with each other, but these aren't safe walls. Here it could be dangerous to even talk about it. 

And in the end, it doesn't really matter, nor is it any of my business. 

The door opens, and everyone jumps up to get their eagerly awaited breakfast. "Let's go! You have to be starvin', right? With all the healin' stuff that your body does."

"Well, I-" My eyes widen as the realization hits me. My view wanders to my grip around the bedpost and over to the door. Shit...

"He took my crutch with him...“ What am I supposed to do now? I can’t take the stairs without it. In fact, I can’t walk at all without it. 

When I look back at them, I see Giggles's expression matching mine and the gears turning in Thomas’s head. "We can search for him and just ask him to give it back. He surely didn’t mean to take it with him. He’s too nice for that,“ he assures me, laying a hand on Giggles's shoulder. 

"I‘m sorry, I shoulda thought 'bout that.“ I shake my head and assure him that he’s done enough and it’s not his fault.  
Thomas pulls the shorter boy out of the room, and I‘m left alone with a promise that they’ll come back as fast as possible.

For two or three minutes, I sit there inspecting the cut on my arm. Stuff like this Henry or Specs would usually sew close to avoid infections. He often saw them do it after Albert or Race got in a bad fight or did something stupid, not a rare occurrence. One time Race wouldn’t stop bugging a pigeon despite everyone’s warnings about those devilish things, and when it had enough, it attacked him, leaving many little cuts but also a larger one on his forehead.

This memory always makes me smile. Of course, it’s bad that he got hurt, but it was his fault, and for the next few weeks, everyone made sure he knew it. Since then, Race doesn’t go near pigeons and always eyes them with suspicion and despise.

My bittersweet little moment doesn’t last long. Another mean-looking guard walks through the door and barks at me for still being here when I’m supposed to be downstairs. This is bad. This is really bad! 

"I‘m gonna go soon, but right now I can’t because I ain't got my crutch. See?“ I try to explain as calmly as I manage and point at my twisted and bruised leg. I doubt that rationality is something that exists here, but it's worth trying.

"Do you think I care about that? When I say you have to be downstairs, you go downstairs, got it?“ 

I nod hastily, panic rising in my stomach. With a stealthy grip around the bars, it’s possible to limp forward, but when I reach the end of the bunk, the easy part is over. 

Under the guard's sadistic stare, I let go, and even before I take the first step, I know that my leg won’t carry me.  
To my luck, I’m able to minimize the impact by rolling over my shoulder, which, however, turns out to be bad luck because now my weight is on the cut in my shoulder and injured hip. It feels like I rolled into a bed of knives.

The guard doesn’t laugh like I expected him to but only sighs, exasperated, which is even worse. Without hesitation, he comes over and grips me by my neck, pulling me all the way to the stairs.

"Look, here we go.“ with a firm kick, he sends me down the stairs, causing pain to explode in my whole body. I am on fire, not even hearing myself scream in pain. But with that, it isn’t over yet. He slowly walks down the stairs with a way too calm smile. 

He looks at me like I'm his breakfast, nothing more than a disgusting bug that he's about to crush under his boot. I guess that's what we all are to them, vermin.

My brain shouts at me to get up and at least try to run away, but my body doesn’t respond and lies there motionless. When he reaches me, punches and kicks start, making the pain worse with every second. A metallic taste spreads on my tongue, and my vision blurs further with every blow that hits my head. But I don’t pass out. Why don’t I pass out? 

From the corner of my eye, I see two figures at the end of the hall. One is holding the other while he buries his face into his chest, but I can't see who they are through the fog gathering in my head.

The man grabs me by my collar and presses my back against the wall. His right-hand shifts up to my throat. He’s going to kill me. I panic and try to pry his hand off my neck with little success. I can’t breathe. Black dots form at the corner of my vision, and glitter particles dance in front of my eyes. I’ll die.

I open and close my mouth like a fish and even try to scream, but the air doesn't get past his hand.   
After an eternity, my limbs finally loosen and I lose consciousness. The ghost of my brother's name is the last thing that leaves my lips before the world turns black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm still not sure in which direction this should go. Do you have any ideas? Do you want this to become kind of romance-y, and if yes, who do you want to end up with who? Should Crutchie already have a partner? I'm open for everything besides Crutchie ending up with Snyder lol   
> That would be disgusting...


End file.
